


Les Quizerables

by Nonnymus



Series: Les Quizérables [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, I can only apologise, M/M, Piningjolras, Pub Quizzes, This started life as a collection of amusing headcanons for a friend and then this happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-19
Updated: 2013-10-19
Packaged: 2017-12-29 21:08:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1010120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nonnymus/pseuds/Nonnymus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Grantaire’s expression turned hurt, and his much too blue eyes (<i>God, Enjolras – get a grip!</i>) flickered downwards momentarily, as if trying to compose himself enough to hide behind the hideously drunken front once again.“’S lucky this is near the end of the quiz, ‘Pollo,” Grantaire leered across the table at him, “or else I’d be tempted to see how well you’d do without me.”"</p><p>A pub quiz oneshot in which Enjolras comes to realise that Grantaire is not so useless after all.<br/> </p>
            </blockquote>





	Les Quizerables

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Carolinecalflo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carolinecalflo/gifts).



> I wrote this for a friend in one sitting originally as a bunch of headcanons and it got wildly out of control and became a piningjolras fic. Don't ask how that happened! But hey, everyone needs more piningjolras in their life, right?

Combeferre is the king of pub quizzes, having soaked up multitudes of useless facts from reading so much (and correcting the Encyclopaedia, on occasion,) and the rest of Les Amis squabble over getting him on their team whenever Musichetta insists they come and “make the Musain look busy so people will come in” on pub quiz night, but all that ever really happens is it gets very competitive.

The only person who can really rival Combeferre, knowledge-wise, is Grantaire, and that’s even when he’s imbued various spirits that night – just as eloquent, but just a little more flushed and loud. His knowledge of classics, history and art is impressive to say the least, but the others are also surprised to see Grantaire knows as much as he does about pop culture and current news stories.

Marius often chips in with etymology, modern foreign languages, or Napoleonic history, those being his best subjects.

Jehan knows Romantic writers, poets, painters, architecture, a fair amount about botany, and (rather more bizarrely), martial arts.

Joly is the anatomy expert, as well as knowing more than anyone ever needs to about the symptoms of tropical diseases (needless to say, it didn’t come up in the quiz often) but is also renowned for his knowledge of the history of Wimbledon, so often chips in with his considerable, and surprising, knowledge of tennis.

The first time he’d done it, Courfeyrac had gaped at the young man – his speciality being popular music from the 60s onwards, of course! – and Joly had smiled sheepishy back, whist Bossuet sat smugly beside him, patting his thin arm (which displayed little or no evidence of playing tennis!)

Bossuet himself doesn’t have any particular speciality, but is amazing at wordplay rounds, having an unlimited capacity for puns, anagrams and dingbats which surprised even him. He would always look a little shocked when they read out his answers as correct, probably from having had years of bad luck and being the victim of Sod’s law!

Feuilly prides himself on knowing every country and capital city in Europe, and every state and state capital in America. Grantaire tried to ignore the way that Enjolras’ eyes got a little glazed when he first heard Feuilly point at every European country in turn and recite the capitals, in his modest and understated voice.

Bahorel usually whoops along with his friend’s recitation, and usually comes into his own on the sport round, and, (go figure) the rounds where any of his baking knowledge came into play. He and Cosette had bonded over their love of baking, and until you saw Bahorel with his bear-like hands in oven gloves, humming and covered in a light dusting of flour, you wouldn’t believe such a man could make such dainty meringues, cakes and desserts as he brought to meetings.

Cosette has an extensive knowledge of literature, especially works written by female writers, having been home-schooled and with a lot of time for reading. She also is rather knowledgeable about different cultures and religions, having moved around a lot as a child (Marius only blanches when you ask him why Cosette has such a disrupted childhood, and so the others learn quickly not to ask).

Enjolras, needless to say, is their go-to when it come to history, politics, rights movements and current events. The others were still horrified to discover he couldn’t name a single one of Frodo’s companions in Lord of the Rings, however, and so teased him mercilessly about that, regardless of the fact he could recite the UK Reform Act of 1832 word-perfect! 

Éponine usually didn’t come along to the quiz nights, usually citing "gotta babysit" as the excuse, but Grantaire knew it was more that she didn’t feel like she could offer anything to the group of students when she’d been pulled out of school at the first opportunity by her swindling parents and was still working to pay for night classes.

Musichetta herself just watches fondly with a soft smile, making coffees, cocktails and everything in between, (“No, Grantaire, I don’t want rum in that coke!”) with an ease that came with practice. She occasionally whispers the answer in Bossuet’s ear as she winds her way between the tables, delivering drinks, but is generally content to watch with a slightly proud smile.

The teams usually split into: Combeferre, Jehan, Courfeyrac, Marius, Cosette and Éponine, whenever she turned up; and Grantaire, Enjolras (“Why can’t I go with Combeferre?” “Because they need an equal spread of people who know about politics and history, you know why!”), Joly, Bossuet, Feuilly and Bahorel.

The tally for wins is usually fairly equal, so Enjolras didn’t have much reason to complain, and even when he did moan about Grantaire’s intoxication, he could never exactly say it was impairing his brain function when he seemed to know the answer to every question thrown at him! Enjolras didn’t know how the drunkard knew so much, but it annoyed him in a way he couldn’t explain.

Grantaire always assumed the glares were because his breath stank of whiskey, his voice was loud and brash or he’d gotten his facts wrong, but really, Enjolras was annoyed at himself for being so impressed by the way Grantaire slurred out the correct answers, writing in sprawling, scrawling script, before nonchalantly returning to staring into the bottom of his bottle. Grantaire could be so much more if he just stopped his rampant self-destruction and lifted his sights above the rim of his glass to see how he could help the world around him if he only tried! It infuriated him no end.

When Grantaire answered a particularly tricksy question on politics that even Enjolras was struggling with (“Oh god - was that 1976 or ’77?”) without even looking up from where he was languidly rolling a cigarette, Enjolras hissed across the table “How did you know that?”

“I _do_ read and go to class – well, a bit – Apollo! I don’t _just_ spend all my time drinking,” Grantaire grinned sloppily, trembling hands spilling a dusting of tobacco on his already dirty jeans. Grantaire’s eyes were already half-lidded and Enjolras could smell the alcohol on him from where he sat across the table.

“No?” Enjolras snapped, “You’ve been doing nothing else all evening!”

Joly eyed the exchange, usually wide grin slipping into a more nervous approximation of a smile. Feuilly and Bahorel were arm-wrestling, and Bossuet cheering them on enthusiastically (although obviously whoever he put his money on would undoubtedly then lose!) but even they paused at Enjolras’ tone.

Grantaire’s expression turned hurt, and his much too blue eyes ( _God, Enjolras – get a grip!_ ) flickered downwards momentarily, as if trying to compose himself enough to hide behind the hideously drunken front once again.“’S lucky this is near the end of the quiz, ‘Pollo,” Grantaire leered across the table at him, “or else I’d be tempted to see how well you’d do without me.”

Enjolras just gritted his teeth and Grantaire grinned in triumph, but the smile didn’t reach his unfocused eyes. He was insufferable, no matter how smart he was, or how his eyes were so bright and full of emotion. It didn’t matter that his hair was scruffy in a way that only Grantaire could pull off, or that his paintings were beautiful and _no one told him enough how good he could be._

It didn’t matter that Enjolras’ heart clenched when it turned out that their team had won by one point – the one point they may have not gotten if it weren’t for Grantaire – and it certainly didn’t matter that he was left to walk the drunken Grantaire home.

_He’d tell him soon. He would. He would._


End file.
